


In The End

by Agent7



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Death, Jaime wouldn't have made it all the way into the Red Keep with those stab wounds, Serious Injuries, incest (mentioned), no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent7/pseuds/Agent7
Summary: In the bitter end, Jaime Lannister lays just steps from where he 'won' the fight with Euron Greyjoy and reflects on his failure to save his sister.





	In The End

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't happy with the ending they gave to Jaime and Cersei so I wanted to write something for myself. Make sure you read the tags, major character death ahead. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

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Jaime Lannister struggled to breath as he stared up at the blue skies above Kings Landing.

He was so close.

Euron Greyjoy, dam him to all seven hells, lay meer feat away. Dead. He’d bled out from his gut wound fast, thank the gods for Jaime didn’t have to listen to his mindless prattle. Didn’t have to hear it rattle around in his head.

“I fucked the Queen!”

It was all Greyjoy had said until he died. Jaime was ashamed to admit that it had gotten under his skin. Had gotten a rise out of him.

“I fucked the Queen!” 

Fuck Euron Greyjoy. Jaime wanted to say that it was all a lie. Wanted to believe it. Greyjoy wasn’t above lying. But…

“I fucked the Queen!” 

Jaime knew that it wasn’t a lie. Cersei had slept with Euron. Willingly. 

Oh sure, he was sure that she had her reasons. It was probably a sound political decision. Wasn’t that what all of her previous lovers had been too? Sound political decisions. 

For years he had been devoted to just her, but she had never been just his. And now she had been Euron’s of all people.

Jaime was only too glad to have killed the fucker. But he had managed to get Jaime too. He’d only made it a handful of steps before falling to the ground.

Nausea rolled in his stomach as he heard the roar of the dragon. I’ve come too far to give up. Just a bit more now. For Cersei. He’d come all the way from the North to save his sister. His lover. He wasn’t going to fail now - He’d never failed before, not this badly. He wouldn’t fail now. He would spirit her away to somewhere safe and then she could be just his. Just his. 

Pain raced up from his gut when he tensed, as if to remind him of his failures. But this pain would only be temporary. If he didn’t save Cersei then that would be death for both of them. For the child she carried. That would be forever. That pain would haunt him forever. He wasn’t sure if he believed in the Seven or an afterlife, even after seeing undead zombies, but he was sure the pain of not saving her would follow him into whatever afterlife there was. He shouldn’t have left her, shouldn't have let it come to this.

But he did. 

So he wouldn’t fail now. Not in the end. 

He tried to take a deep breath but that resulted in a wet cough that sent specks of blood to his lips.

Two stab wounds. The one to the gut was enough to be fatal, but it would fester over days - more than enough time to see Cersei to safety. 

The other one however…

Jaime wasn’t a Maester, but he had seen enough of war to know that it had hit his lung. His chest wouldn’t inflate normally - each deep breath felt like a stab and his chest rattled in a way that made him nauseous. 

Just a bit more. 

With a grimace he ground his teeth together and rolled from his back to his knees, hunched over as if he were about to be sick. Stars shot behind his eyes and the pain made him dizzy. It was worse than he had imagined. When he blinked his vision was white and full of unshed tears. 

This is death then? Well he will have to wait a while. I have a Queen to save.

Jaime wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, waiting for the pain to recede. Hoping that the fear and panic would come back and take it away just long enough so he could make it to Cersei.

Just a bit more. 

Tyrion had risk his life to save Jaime. To save Cersei. To save their unborn child. And Jaime owed it to him to succeed.

Briefly he remembered the warm bed and the warmer lover he had left behind in the North and he didn’t know whether to feel shame or sadness. Longing or resignation. The woman he wasn’t man enough to love back.

It must be Cersei, I’ve made my choice. It is always her. But he wasn’t sure he didn’t regret that choice. Didn’t regret not choosing a warm bed with a lover he could be with. He wasn’t sure he didn’t regret it the moment he left Winterfell. Wasn’t sure he would make the same choice again if he were back in the North. The child, I made this choice for the child. What good would he be if he couldn’t save that child? I can be with her and the child. I can have the life we always should have had. If only I move.

But that wasn’t true was it? Because, unless Cersei’s maester could work some sort of dark magic Jaime would die here. 

His choice would lead to nothing if he died on this beach. No lover. No warm bed. No child. But mayhap I can save them.

With a groan he forced himself to his feet. Flesh hand braced against the stone that led into the Red Keep. 

One step.

Then two.

Then another and another. His heart raced with elation.

Cersei. Cersei. Cersei. Keep going. Cersei. For her. For the child. Keep going. 

The door that led to the passageway was just ahead, steps away. If he could make it there he could make it to her. He knew it. He knew he could make it. He had failed to save a royal family from a mad Targaryen before, but he wouldn’t fail now. Just a bit farther. He though that he had done it, that he had conquered this moment of weakness.

Until his foot caught on a rock and legs gave way from underneath him.

Jaime didn’t remember falling to the ground. Didn’t realize he had, even, until the pain had faded and the spots had cleared from his vision and he was laying on the rocky sand staring up at that damned blue sky again. The wet sand hadn’t done much to cushion his fall and the metallic tinge of blood in the air made him dizzy all over again. 

Was the blood his? Or Greyjoys? He couldn’t tell. 

You have to get up. You have to keep going. If you can just get her Cersei here it will be all worth it. She will live. The child will live. 

A handful of steadying breaths later and he was ready to try again despite the pain it would bring.

For Cersei. For Cersei. For Cersei. Everything I’ve done has been for her. Everything I am is for her. 

If he thought of a pair of blue eyes instead of Cersei’s green, well that was his secret. If those blue eyes caused him a pain nearly as bad as the stab wound in his chest no one would ever know. 

A breath later and he tried to roll onto his knees, but his arms and legs wouldn’t cooperate. 

Again he tried, and again. Deep breath and roll. But his extremities felt more likely to melt into the sand than they did to support his weight.

I won’t die here. I won’t die a failure. Hot tears stung his eyes in a stark contrast to the creeping coldness he felt elsewhere. Damn these wet clothes. Damn Greyjoy. The water arounds Kings Landing was cool in the summer and this was still winter. It would be frigid. Damn, damn, damn. Its gods damn cold, too cold to get my legs to cooperate. 

His muddles thought swam, always coming back to damn his wet clothes and to damn Greyjoy. But, somewhere in the back of his muddled mind he remembered that he hadn’t been the one to get wet. Had he? Her certainly felt wet, he was cold enough to be soaked to the bone. But 

Euron was the one to come out of the water, not him. So why was he so cold?

Fuck. Fuck. I will not fail. 

But the white spots were back behind his eyes, making it hard to see and even harder to think. 

A crunch from his left drew his attention and suddenly a figure appeared over him. He wondered if it was friend or foe. A part of him prayed it was the woman he loved, although his mind couldn’t decide on what shade of blonde her hair was or what color her eyes. He wondered if it mattered. His eyes finally focused, they were small. Too small to be either of the women he hoped for. More like a child, small and lith. But the child was holding a thin blade. 

Arya Stark. 

Not a child at all then, just a mystery Jaime hadn’t had the time to figure out. 

She was looking down at him in that condescending way all Starks seemed to have. Suddenly Jaime was furious - this was the same look Ned Stark had given him when he found Jaime on the throne after he had killed the King. The same look he gave Jaime when he fought with him in the streets after his brother had been taken by Stark’s wet fish of a wife. The same look he’d had for Jaime until the very end. 

By what right does this little girl have to judge me? What right does she have to judge a lion. 

She was so like her father just then that Jaime could have sworn she was his ghost come to haunt him. Wouldn’t that be poetic?

But Arya Stark was not like her father, despite the long Stark face and ice grey eyes. 

She didn’t react to the insult he spat at her. She showed no emotion as specks of his blood flew out of his mouth and landed on his face. He tried again. Insulting her, her figure, her family, even her stupid bastard lover. But she just blinked slowly at him, watching and listening as his words became more slurred and his vision blurred at the edges.

“Valar morghulis.” She said, giving him a small cutting smile. The only hint of emotion she had shown throughout the entire reaction. Jaime couldn’t place the emotion as any one thing though, it didn’t look happy or vengeful. No glee or remorse. It was just a cold, cutting thing. Like ice. 

As he died and his vision started to swim the girls face morphed into her brothers. All he could see was Bran Starks frightened eyes mixed with her sharp smile, but in the end he felt more fear at the cruel smile on Arya’s face than Bran Stark had probably ever felt in his short life.

That smile was satisfied. 

Jaime wondered if saving Cersei and himself all those years ago had been worth the cost. They had always said they would die together, twins that came into the world together should leave together after all. But their choices had led them here, and he had to wonder if it was worth it. If choosing Cersei had been worth dying alone on this godforsaken swatch of beach, because dying with Arya Stark watching him was much the same as dying with no one at all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can fill in Cersei’s ending. Either Arya takes Jaimes face and goes back to kill her or Arya lets her die alone, standing on the map of a country that she and her family helped to tear apart. IDK, if I get time after work I might write it.


End file.
